"The Thetan Templar," by Dan Brown: Last Plane To Benghazi

It was cold and drizzly outside—as cold as the trail leading to
the Islamic glass dildo, currently nestled within the elegant
antique Egyptian laptop desk in the office of NYU Professor Nate
“Shirky” Stryker, the world’s leading academic in the fields of new
media, the occult and nanotechnology. But Stryker wasn’t keeping
office hours today, and neither was the mysterious dildo.

“It’s Greek,” Stryker said with a knowing smile. “But there’s
nothing Greek about the Arabic tattoos around the ankles of these
severed legs in my elevator.”

Tanalyne returned with the antique glass dildo and placed it
gingerly in Stryker’s waiting hands. He squinted at the elaborate
Arabic calligraphy and then lifted one of the legs to his eyes. A
perfect match.

“We’ll need to get the Mayor’s Office of Terrorism involved,”
Stryker said with a grimace. The last thing he wanted was to see
this story blown out of proportion by the right-wing political
blogs.

What a disaster, what a world, Stryker thought. I
should be halfway to Cairo by now, enjoying a flute of my favorite
champagne and finishing up this animated GIF edition of the Nag
Hammadi codices. But instead I’m still stuck in my office with more
legs than Radio City Music Hall.

The detectives arrived in minutes, making use of Stryker’s
heliport atop New York University’s Forensic-Parapsychology Studies
building.

“Hullo, Tanalyne,” Sully said to the associate professor.
“You’re looking a lot better than this old idiot you work for, as
usual.”

“Touché,” answered Stryker. It meant something like the
American word “touch,” but Sully was a tough first-generation Irish
cop, so he didn’t know.

“Blimey, look at the leg stumps,” Sully cursed. “No blood!”

Stryker wiped his brow with his trademark tweed beret and
studied each of the dismembered legs.

“Of course there’s no blood,” he said finally. “These aren’t
human.”

“You don’t mean?” Tanalyne bit her lower lip gently,
haltingly.

“No for God’s sake, not aliens. These legs are from
mannequins.”

And that means the Fashion District, Stryker deduced.
Or, at least, from an exclusive uptown retailer. These legs are
of the highest quality, not the kind of dingy gams you see poking
out of some knockoff at Century 21.

“Turn on the television,” Tanalyne said, looking up from her
porcelain Google Android clamshell phone. “The president is about
to speak.”

“About to speak about what?” barked Sully, who didn’t
care for politics.

“About the other dozen legs just like these, found moments ago
in the ruins of a just-discovered Benghazi sun temple dating back
to third millennium, B.C.”

Nate Stryker hit the UP button and they all went to the rooftop
helicopter port, including the mannequin legs. But the helicopter
had taken off without them.